


when we get out of this, I may have to steal you

by slashmania



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Fischer gets knocked out a lot, Fischer thinks he's Jackson Rippner, M/M, Work In Progress, could the flight attendant be any more awesome?, dental worries, mile high club fail, not exactly a Red Eye AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-08
Updated: 2019-04-11
Packaged: 2019-07-08 21:11:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15938369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slashmania/pseuds/slashmania
Summary: "I really don’t think the situation is so bad. We improved some aspects of his personality by attempting the inception, darling. He doesn’t have daddy issues anymore, does he?”“Trading in daddy issues for this? Fischer thinks he’s some kind of terrorist, Eames. A terrorist,” Arthur sighed. He pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to focus. He couldn’t. “And even though I know it’s not your fault, I’m kind of pissed off that you’ve managed to get me to say the word ‘terrorist’ on a plane. Three times now, Eames. Three!”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to write this before the semester started but it just wouldn't work. It was clunky and annoying, but now it sounds a little better. Since I hadn't seen a fic with this type of idea, I figured I'd give it a try. I also can't seem to keep from writing AUs.
> 
> Also I picked the name Charlotte for the flight attendant because its the most popular female name in Australia. I wanted the flight attendant to be cool, so she gets to hint that being a flight attendant isn't actually her normal job. I realized that we don't have enough fic that mentions this particular character.
> 
> errors will be fixed later when I spot them again!!!
> 
> **After some consideration (and getting a review also asking the question) I've decided to make this a multi-chapter fic! I don't know how long it is, or when it will be finished, so another tag will be added!

Arthur and Eames were sitting fairly close- the aisle in First Class was really the only thing keeping them from touching. It was a pretty generous aisle. The seats were comfortable, even if they'd spent the last ten hours of the flight hooked up to the PASIV, attempting to incept Robert Fischer though the odds were stacked against them so high...Thank you very much, Cobb!

But everything was going to be okay now. Everything was going to be fine. It was clear that Cobb was waking up later than the rest of the team had. Fischer had gone quiet and introspective, Ariadne said nothing to attract his attention but briefly looked in Eames and Arthur's direction after waking, then focused on the still sleeping Cobb and Saito.

And then they woke. 

The second Yusuf had a chance he unhooked himself from the PASIV and rushed off to the First Class restroom.

Arthur shared a disbelieving look with Cobb, shaking his head over the fact that the man had managed to pull himself and a bewildered Saito out of Limbo. Plus actually doing what Arthur previously thought was impossible. Then Arthur spoke to Eames.

"I have never wanted to kiss you more than I do right now," Arthur said to Eames from his side of the aisle.

"One look at Cobb seals the deal?"

Arthur was willing to play along. "Sure, guys who make it onto my shitlist always get me going. You can thank Cobb later for what I do to you in the restroom."

"I probably won't," Eames said, licking his lips and looking towards their intended rendezvous point. Yusuf was already heading back to his seat.

Arthur shared a look with Eames; if they didn't take this opportunity now, something stupid would happen and make them have to wait till they landed at LAX to indulge in what they'd both agreed to avoid during their week spent roaming Yusuf's dream. They agreed that dream sex was awesome, but neither thought that Charlotte the flight attendant needed to witness their dreaming bodies get hard.

To be specific, Arthur thought it would make Charlotte uncomfortable. Eames thought that if anyone was going to get a chance to watch Arthur get hard, it should be _him_. Eames had said _Call me territorial, love, but I've waited for you for far too long._

Eames wanted privacy and Arthur was charmed. Arthur was seeing all sorts of things happen that he'd thought were once impossible. The idea that he and Eames could become a possibility filled Arthur with a sorely missed feeling.

It had been forever since he'd been so hopeful. It had been forever since he'd had the chance to start a relationship that wasn't centered on another person's self-destruction. But Cobb was clearly going to go home now, so Arthur was free to do whatever the fuck he wanted.

He stood up and headed to the restroom. Eames was following after him, unable to wipe the smile off his face

But just as they were about to reach their destination there was a commotion from behind them. It was impossible not to turn and look.

"-what? What are you doing?" Cobb whisper-shouted at Fischer, his eyes wide.

Fischer was up from his seat. He leaned against Saito's, looming over him while saying, "Make the phone call before we land and I'll call off my guard dog."

Those closest to the scene were alarmed, and just as Arthur was about to settle the matter himself, Charlotte the flight attendant took matters into her own hands and knocked Fischer unconscious with a water carafe. The addled businessman dropped to the floor between the other seats.

She dropped her unbroken carafe into Fischer's empty seat and looked in Arthur and Eames direction. She raised and eyebrow and waved them off.

Taking the hint, Arthur and Eames entered the restroom together.

* * *

 

But instead of kissing and kissing and kissing, the first thing Arthur did to Eames when the door was closed was grip the man's shirtfront and hiss, "Oh my god, we've fucked up!"

Eames had been eager for the kissing, the groping, and whatever else Arthur may have intended to engage in, but he could also agree that what they'd witnessed out there wasn't great. He was still willing to focus on the positives.

“I really don’t think the situation is so bad. We improved some aspects of his personality by attempting the inception, darling. He doesn’t have daddy issues anymore, does he?”

“Trading in daddy issues for this? Fischer thinks he’s some kind of terrorist, Eames. A terrorist,” Arthur sighed. He pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to focus. He couldn’t. “And even though I know it’s not your fault, I’m kind of pissed off that you’ve managed to get me to say the word ‘terrorist’ on a plane. Three times now, Eames. Three!”

“I doubt that anyone’s paying attention right now. The flight attendant has her hands full getting the unconscious, maybe a terrorist, Fischer back into his seat.”

There was a beat of silence between the two.

"Do you think we should have given her more help?” Arthur asked. Sure Charlotte had waved at them and looked like she had everything under control...

“Charlotte seemed to have it under control,” Eames reassured him, echoing the point man's thoughts.

“I’ve never seen a man get knocked unconscious by a flight attendant.”

This would have been the moment where Eames would have looked at their reflections in the mirror and made some comment about Arthur looking too nice. That he'd need to be mussed up, especially since the flight attendant had basically given them leave to become a part of the mile high club. They'd have to look like they'd at least attempted to gain membership.

Eames was distracted by the message scrawled onto the mirror. He examined it closely and noticed that it had been accomplished with soap. Arthur was reading the message aloud.

"Sorry for the sedation," Arthur read, squinting at some of the difficult to decipher letters. "In the hopes of clearing the air, I feel that I should be honest about one more possible side-effect of my Somnacin compound."

Eames had been reading silently along with Arthur, but pointed at a blurry word in the corner of the mirror. "What does that mean? I can't even read it."

Arthur began saying it slowly, going through each possibility. "My dad. My sad. My...bad."

Then Arthur sighed and said, "Making out is on hold. Now we have to figure out what to do about Fischer thinking he's a terrorist."

"That makes four, darling!"

* * *

 

Coming back to First Class was strange. Fischer was secured to his seat with a seat belt and a set of restraints that flight attendants have on hand if a passenger becomes a danger to themselves or others while the plane is still in the air.

"That's a gag," Arthur commented when he noticed that Fischer had been gagged with his own tie. He'd not be able to intelligibly speak through it, so it would do.

"Just in case he comes to before we reach LAX," Charlotte said as she stood at attention.

"I would love to know what you used to do before you became a flight attendant," Eames said.

Charlotte smiled. "I have signed a lot of paper work that suggests I should only tell you that information if I intend to kill you."

Saito cleared his throat and made very serious eye-contact with Charlotte. "That will be all, Charlotte."

Charlotte respectfully gave the team as much space as she could without entering business class. She only briefly mentioned that they would land at LAX in twenty minutes.

"We have twenty minutes to figure out if the inception worked."

Cobb immediately began freaking out. "But we have an agreement! I got you out of Limbo, I got you out of there safely!"

Saito nodded after a moment spent thinking about it. "I agree, Mr. Cobb. But now I wonder what exactly will happen to Robert Fischer...how did this happen in the first place?"

Yusuf cleared his throat. "There may have been another little side-effect from my Somnacin, but it was such a small probability that it wasn't even worth mentioning."

"Yes, we saw the note you left on the bathroom mirror," Arthur said with a purposefully lazy drawl. He didn't want to reveal exactly how much he'd rather have been making out with Eames.

"I could have been doing much more interesting things with Arthur," Eames sighed, not bothering to hide what his intentions had been and what he'd rather have been doing. But he got involved in the conversation anyway. "If it was such a small probability why did it happen to Fischer and not any of us?"

Yusuf shrugged helplessly. "I don't know, maybe call or text me if you suddenly engage in plots based in terrorism."

"Five!" Eames said before smiling at Arthur.

"There has to be something else that triggered it," Ariadne offered. "Fischer went all the way down in his own subconscious, he died on the third level and was kidnapped by Mal in Limbo."

"That is what had to have triggered it," Arthur nodded. "Nice catch, Ariadne."

Cobb was flustered and upset, but even the suggestion that it was his projection of Mal that lead to this-- this _thing_ made him get defensive. "How do you know that's what caused it?"

"Your projection of Mal kidnapped him, which is really just your subconscious, so in a backwards way it means that  _you_ kidnapped him," Eames added in. "Even stranger if you consider the fact that you had basically kidnapped Fischer from yourself in the middle of a job that started its first level with a kidnapping. Levels upon levels of kidnapping, Cobb! Now Fischer has woken up thinking he's a terrorist or something, demanding Saito make phone calls, and making weird comments about calling off his guard dogs." Then to Arthur, Eames very primly said, "And that makes it six. I promise I won't say the word again. Forger's honor!" 

"I don't agree with that!" Cobb bellowed. It wasn't clear whether he was disagreeing with Eames's analysis or his promise to stop saying the T-word.

"But he really did say those things," Yusuf said. Cobb glared at him, muttering, "That's not what I meant, I can't believe I've given you my whole share...my kids have to go to college, you know?"

Arthur ignored the mini-argument between Cobb and Yusuf about their previous deal. He turned to Eames to discuss what could be done about this.

"This is going to go beyond whether or not we successfully incepted Robert Fischer. Or if we helped him with grief or daddy issues. We may have actually done something to change his personality."

"Or its something temporary that he'll only remember as a daydream. A more exciting version of his life, kind of like the weird dreams he had on the plane ride from Australia."

Saito's lips thinned into a forbidding frown. "I had no intention of harming Fischer this way. Would it be possible for you to monitor the situation?"

Arthur and Eames shared a look. The others were busy with other conversations; Cobb and Yusuf talking about the expenses of college educations, and Ariadne was speaking to Charlotte about whatever agreement she had to sign before getting on this plane.

"We'll not babysit him," Eames said.

"While I don't believe that he'll suddenly recover his memory after getting hit on the head, I'd be willing to double-check if he has returned to normal. Take him out for a drink, start a conversation about his father, and so on?"

Saito nodded. "You're already going to be within range of his hotel room?"

Eames gave Arthur a surprised look. The point man only shrugged. "While I was going to monitor the news to see if the inception had taken, I thought engaging in contact might give me the answers I wanted."

"Please keep me informed," Saito said. Arthur nodded and shook the other man's hand when prompted, but he almost immediately returned his attention to Eames.

"We'll follow him for a bit. If he stops for a drink, we will too. If he doesn't we go to our hotel room and wait."

Eames smiled for him. "And what are you going to order?"

"I was thinking of a bay breeze. Or maybe a sea breeze."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "A picture perfect point man with a now politely passive, politically driven and silently plotting preppy Pompadour," Eames pronounced with a smirk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I'm not going to lie. The fact that the last 21 incorrect inception quotes were suggested by me is kind of the only thing boosting my confidence for fanfiction, writing, or the thought of NaNo. Thank you incorrect-inception-quotes!

"I don't smell like an airport," Arthur said, purposefully ignoring Eames's blatant attempts to draw him back to the hotel room. It was so private, Eames had said. It was much more comfortable than this elegantly appointed hotel bar they followed Fischer to after leaving LAX in one piece. It was unclear whether or not Fischer had been cured of his delusions after being hit over the head with the water carafe in First Class. He'd managed to regain consciousness, disembark, and make it through several security checkpoints without raising the red alarm. From what Eames could see, Fischer was politely nursing a drink and eating some pretzels.

"Fischer seems pleasant enough, darling. He's eating pretzels and not threatening anyone at all." Then Eames changed gears and went back to his original argument. "Our hotel room would also have more comfortable flat surfaces," Eames said in response to Arthur's claim. They were seated close together at the bar where they watched Fischer seated in a booth along the wall. It was just far enough for Fischer to not hear everything they said, but close enough for Arthur and Eames's successful observation. Their former mark had yet to do anything that looked like it was related to any kind of terrorism.

"You could take a nice shower so you don't smell like an airport anymore."

Arthur sipped his sea breeze. He put it down on a coaster. "I'm beginning to take offense."

Eames picked up Arthur's drink. "You could never be considered offensive, Arthur. You have perfect manners, excellent taste in suits, and wear just the right amount of cologne." Eames shrugged. "You slick your hair back with a little more product than might be necessary, but I've seen what your hair gets up to when it thinks you've relaxed your guard."

"My hair isn't sentient," Arthur said, watching as Eames tried some of the sea breeze before putting the glass back on the coaster. "It doesn't have a personality or ambitions. It doesn't want to run for senate or take over the world."

Eames snorted. "That's what sentient hair with political or diabolical ambitions would like you to think, darling. See, its already trying to break free," Eames noted, touching a rebellious curl that had come free to rest against the shell of Arthur's ear. He idly stroked the lock, then tucked it behind Arthur's ear. Arthur let Eames busy himself like this because at least he had gotten off the topic of who smelled like an airport. Eames then looked Arthur over and couldn't find an imperfection.

"A picture perfect point man with a now politely passive, politically driven and silently plotting preppy Pompadour," Eames pronounced with a smirk.

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Do you even know what a Pompadour is?"

"It started with the letter P and is a hairstyle commonly worn by men. I had a theme so I went with it."

"Never a Pompadour. I will never be Elvis. I will never _want_ to be Elvis."

He paused and looked over at the quiet booth he'd been watching even as Eames tried to lure him away to the room. Perching on bar stools and watching Fischer do nothing out of the ordinary had proven to be very boring. Thus the bantering had started.

"I know Fischer's favorite song is by Elvis..."

Eames hummed, half-interested in arriving at the topic from something unrelated to what they were supposed to be doing while at the hotel bar. Not flirting. _Definitely_ not flirting or having ridiculous conversations.

"And that song would be?"

" _Suspicious Minds._ "

Eames looked around. He didn't notice anything like a jukebox. The music playing over the hotel bar speakers was something quiet and classical.

"Can you make that song play from your phone?"

Arthur was already holding his phone out, a music file ready to be played. Eames stared at Arthur for a second.

"Never wanting to be Elvis doesn't mean I can't enjoy the King's music. Let's see if we can get Fischer's attention with this."

"He could just look over because the song isn't something he expects to hear. There's no guarantee that this is something this new identity or persona cares for."

"We'll give it a chance. If it doesn't work out we'll watch for a little while longer then start an actual conversation with him."

Eames agreed. Arthur pressed a button on his phone and the song began to play.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I could have sworn I was the one reassuring you a second ago."
> 
> Eames patted Arthur's thigh before he removed his hand entirely. "We take it in turns, and that's another reason why we make the best team."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is taking an interesting turn!

It was fortunate that the bartender had chosen that moment to leave the bar. Arthur could only imagine why. The bar was well stocked, it didn't look like the bartender needed supplies like napkins, toothpicks, or pretzels. Maybe it was break time, maybe it was time for a cigarette, trip to the bathroom, or the guy had to make a phone call?

Arthur really didn't care why he left, just that it made the next steps easier for them. The song playing from Arthur's cell phone was just loud enough to be heard over the classical music pumped over the hotel bar speakers.

It took Eames putting his hand firmly, but not flirtatiously, on Arthur's left leg for Arthur to realize that he'd developed an anxious twitch while waiting for Fischer to turn his head or react in any way.

"You can't jump up and run towards him now, darling," Eames said in a delicate undertone, the pressure of his hand becoming less firm and more cautionary. "Give the man a chance to recognize it..."

"I could have sworn I was the one reassuring _you_ a second ago."

Eames patted Arthur's thigh before he removed his hand entirely. "We take it in turns, and that's another reason why we make the best team."

Arthur didn't have a chance to respond to that because Fischer was turning in his seat and looking over at the bar now.

Fischer leveled them a look that the grief-stricken man they'd been paid to incept wouldn't have managed half as well. The Robert Fischer from before would still clearly carry the weight of his father's death on his shoulders. Now Fischer looked pleasantly sharp in his nice suit. When he smiled at them, it didn't reach his eyes. It took years of facing down men who killed for a living and men who casually dealt with violence for Arthur to meet his gaze and not flinch.

Arthur smiled easily and raised his hand to offer a friendly wave.

"Oh fuck," Eames said softly, as Fischer made a show of leaving his booth and coming to the bar.

"Keep cool," Arthur said, not taking his eyes off of Fischer. "We still need to evaluate how bad it is."

"Pretty bad," Eames said before taking Arthur's glass and knocking back the rest of his sea breeze.

Arthur spared Eames a glance, concerned over this show of nerves. Sure, he'd been anxious while he waited to see what Fischer would do, but the bar hid the lower halves of their bodies. No twitch gave them away.

Both were trained professionals who knew how to monitor their tells, to keep up a facade for work. Either Eames was truly nervous or something else was happening. Maybe he had a plan.

Eames smiled quickly and stole the napkin that had come with the sea breeze. He used it to blot the corner of his mouth before crumbling it in his fist and dropping it on the bar.

"Can't blind you with half a sea breeze now. An empty glass makes a great improvised weapon for us, darling."

Then Fischer was in close enough range to hear them talking, so they both shut up. Arthur left the music playing, Elvis getting to the bit about 'an old friend saying hello', and it was just deliciously ironic that Fischer looked at them with suspicious eyes.

"Funny," Fischer said, moving to sit astride the nearest bar stool next to Arthur. "That's my favorite song."

Eames loosely held the empty glass in his hand as Arthur answered Fischer, half interested.

"Is it really?"

"Oh yes," Fischer replied, all charm and dead eyes. "How did you know? And before you get too excited, I'd like you to skip the stuff that makes it sound like we don't have an intimate working relationship. How about you jump to the part where you tell me what the fuck went wrong with the plan?"

"Excuse me?" Arthur said, politely blank faced, itching to draw his gun.

"What are you doing here when you said you were half-way across the country keeping an eye on the target's wife?  _My guard dogs_ _move only when I say_."

Arthur didn't have a good reply for that. Of course, Fischer had mentioned something about guard dogs on the plane. Saito was obviously his target. But now he was drawing both Arthur and Eames into the fantasy as his lackeys? Arthur was sort of insulted. But if he had to play along, he'd play along.

"Woof," Arthur said laconically, and then ducked when he felt Eames's free hand land on his thigh and _squeeze_.

Eames threw the empty glass at Fischer's head.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "The blood came from the wound on his forehead, and his cheek is a little puffy from hitting the floor afterwards. I don't think you hurt his teeth."
> 
> "It would be a shame," Eames said seriously. "I'm sure Fischer has a lovely smile when he's not busy thinking he's a terrorist. Or when he's not wrapped up in a vortex of bitterness and family drama. Did you know that one of the last things his father said to him was the word disappointed?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes when I'm stressed I write nonsense. Have some nonsense! Pardon the errors sprinkled through the text, it's almost midnight and I'm tired...

"Good god, why does such a slight man have to be so _heavy_ when unconscious?"

"Let's just keep manhandling him like he's drunk."

They kept Fischer between them, treating him as if he was unable to walk on his own. Which was true because Eames hadn't held back when he threw that glass. Cut crystal, stylish, and too tall to be called a tumbler, the glass had looked great when all it contained was a sea breeze. When Arthur had picked up the empty glass where it landed on the floor of the bar, he'd noticed a large smear of blood. He took the glass with him because it was now evidence linking him and Eames to an assault. The glass fit into the pocket of his coat, but was bulky and obvious because it made a hollow sound each time it struck his hip, as he lurched in time with Eames to keep Fischer moving.

So in the last ten hours or so, maybe more like twelve to be generous, Fischer had the joy of being sedated in First Class, then sedated while in the dream, hit over the head with a glass carafe after waking in First Class at the end of the journey, then didn't raise his hands quickly enough to catch or deflect the glass Eames had thrown.

Fischer had caught it with his face; well, his forehead and one prominent cheekbone took most of the blow when he turned his head away just in time to avoid a big big dental bill.

Yet that seemed to be the other thing Eames was set on worrying over once they got Fischer to the next secure location they had on hand: the room Arthur had rented with a fake identity. Arthur was already busy thinking of the fees _Alex Greensmith_ would incur for stained towels (because Fischer was still a little bloody), broken furniture (because who knew how long they'd have to keep Fischer in the room, if they'd have to restrain him), and who knew what else?

Luck was on their side. They'd passed the bartender on the way out. He hadn't even blinked at the sight of them "helping" Fischer out of the bar.

"Cameras?" Eames had softly asked once they were in the hall and heading towards the elevators.

"In the halls, elevators, and lobbies? Possible, but depending on the security in this hotel, they might not notice anything."

"Why are we taking him to our room then?"

"Its close, private, and if we have to leave, we can ditch Fischer and get away with our luggage."

They got there in one piece without being questioned or stopped by another person. Fischer was helpfully unconscious and didn't offer resistance or make complaints as they dragged him along.

Fischer was dropped into a chair and he was restrained with the the telephone line from the hotel phone sitting on the bedside table.

Arthur pulled out his phone and made a phone call, just as he agreed he would.

* * *

"No," Arthur replied. "No, we're not sure how far this delusion goes."

Arthur listened to Saito's replies, but watched as Eames sat down further away than he probably needed to. He appeared to be examining Fischer's face.

"Yes, he believes we work for him. I'd assume that when he comes to he's going to fire us. Or try to kill us, who can say for sure?"

Arthur ended the call when he got what little he could from Saito. He had told Saito what happened. That it seemed Fischer had still not come back to himself. Now he had to wait...

"Saito asks that we try to figure out how deep the delusion is."

"He called us his dogs, darling," Eames said. "Its pretty obvious Fischer isn't himself. He's still believes he's...you know, he's never identified himself. Maybe this terrorist persona doesn't have a name yet. Maybe we can force Fischer to remember his real name, bits of his childhood and such if we talk to him."

"That was how the plan was supposed to go before Fischer got weird and you were forced to throw a glass at his head. I'm sorry I never said thank you for that."

Eames was frowning as he stared at Fischer. "Do you think I hurt his teeth? You know, when I threw the glass at him?"

Arthur stood next to where Eames had parked his chair. He was at least three feet away from Fischer.

"The blood came from the wound on his forehead, and his cheek is a little puffy from hitting the floor afterwards. I don't think you hurt his teeth."

"It would be a shame," Eames said seriously. "I'm sure Fischer has a lovely smile when he's not busy thinking he's a terrorist. Or when he's not wrapped up in a vortex of bitterness and family drama. Did you know that one of the last things his father said to him was the word _disappointed_?"

"He said that he was disappointed? Or just the word _disappointed?"_

Eames shrugged. "Fischer said it was just the one word, but it was obvious he'd read into it. I hoped that Fischer might benefit from the inception since his relationship with his father was so terrible. He'd shown all the signs of it after we broke out of the van and made our way to the shore. I just don't know what could have gone wrong."

Arthur laid his hand on Eames's shoulder. "We're still going to figure this out, okay?"

Eames nodded, but then continued on his previous topic. "I'd feel weird if I accidentally screwed up his teeth. Waking up with a different personality is one thing, but having to go back to the dentist just adds insult to injury. I'm sure that Fischer got all the right dental care when he was young, his father surely had the money to do it, right?"

Arthur hadn't done such a thorough examination of financials that it included whether or not Fischer had braces, so he said nothing in reply to that.

"I'm not one to talk about proper dental care," Eames said with a little self-deprecating laugh.

"It's not like you did it intentionally. I mean, throwing the glass was the best idea ever. Fischer catching it mostly with his face was something you couldn't control exactly. Besides, I don't think your teeth are so bad."

Eames looked at Arthur and raised his eyebrows.

Arthur was forced to defend his claim, and he was so very aware of how he was blushing. "I know for sure that I haven't see your picture in _The Big Book of British Smiles_."

Eames smiled. Arthur learned new things about himself every day. He already knew that in the case of Eames, coworker and potential romantic partner, crooked teeth weren't a deal breaker. At all.

"A _Simpsons_ reference, darling?"

"I imagine that scene whenever I have to go to the dentist. That scene haunted my childhood. If we get out of this alive, I swear I'll show you the proof."

"I don't doubt that we'll be alive after this is over, Arthur. I doubt we'll be happy, or comfortable with our life choices, and maybe we'll even worry over the effects of doing future inceptions with Yusuf's Somnacin."

"I have pictures from junior high to high school. I was gawky, wore glasses, and hated my braces more than my life."

"And now I suddenly feel happier. Like I've got the will to get through whatever this is!"

Arthur hadn't removed his hand from Eames's shoulder, so he left it there and continued to smile at Eames. "Then everything is going according to plan, Mr. Eames."


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And that was when Fischer opened his eyes to blink blearily at Arthur and Eames.
> 
> Eames waved cheerfully. "Wakey wakey, no eggs nor bakey! I'm glad to see that you're eager to participate in our discussion."
> 
> Arthur rolled his eyes, but focused on Fischer with a more serious, businesslike look.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My week has kind of been garbage so here's the chapter where Fischer finally states that he's Rippner. Or at least really believes he's like Rippner.

With Fischer bound to the chair with the telephone cord and gagged with a hand towel from the restroom, the captive took up the only other chair in their hotel room. They had positioned him with his back to the door, but facing the bed.

Arthur and Eames sat on the foot of the bed and waited for Fischer to wake up.

"If we weren't busy watching Fischer, I would have taken you up on what you said on the plane."

"I said lots of stuff on the plane," Arthur said, overly aware of how he was holding himself straight, and not daring to lean closer to Eames even though he really, really wanted to.

"Yes, but I thought I'd get that kiss first."

"Sitting in front of an unconscious guy who doesn't remember who the hell he is seals the deal for you?"

Eames shrugged. "If he hadn't woken up thinking he was someone else entirely we would have already moved past the kiss. We would have probably put this hotel room to use as something other than a hiding spot for an unconscious man."

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Are you really suggesting that we start making out in front of Fischer? Hasn't he been through enough?"

Eames inched closer, probably knowing that what he was suggesting wasn't the most professional thing. "Not making out, per say. I just thought you made a very good argument on the plane. That's all."

"But I didn't make an argument, Eames. I only told you what I wanted to do at that moment."

Eames smiled. "Would you still like to kiss me?"

"Of course I do. But we're working, Eames. We have to focus. It's extremely important that we don't drop the ball."

Eames sighed, but nodded in agreement. "True, darling. Just know that its mutual. I have never wanted to kiss you more than I do right now."

They were now sitting as close as they could be, elbow to elbow, but not hip to hip. They kept that sliver of space because they were working, damn it. They could try and seduce each other later.

And that was when Fischer opened his eyes to blink blearily at Arthur and Eames.

Eames waved cheerfully. "Wakey wakey, no eggs nor bakey! I'm glad to see that you're eager to participate in our discussion."

Arthur rolled his eyes, but focused on Fischer with a more serious, businesslike look. "Yes, let's call this a discussion. Now, Mr. Fischer--"

Fischer tried to say something. His eyes narrowed and he flinched when the glare he tried on aggravated the wound on his brow. Arthur had bandaged it so the wound would stay clean and stop bleeding, but that wouldn't spare Fischer the pain. He probably had a fairly bad headache.

He tried to say something, but his words were muffled by his gag.

"If you promise not to spit or scream," Arthur said, making sure that Fischer saw his gun, "I'll remove your gag and we'll talk. I could even get you some Tylenol for your headache."

Fischer weighed his options, looking from one man to the other, then focusing on the gun Arthur held. Finally he nodded his agreement.

Eames moved to remove Fischer's gag, stepping out of range if Fischer was so inclined to snap at him with his still perfect teeth.

"That isn't my name," Fischer said, his voice gone slightly hoarse. Arthur would offer him a sip of water, but he wanted to hear this first.

"Please, tell us what your name is then?"

Fischer glared. "You know my name," he growled. "You'll not be paid for this stunt either. I'll make sure neither of you work in this field again!"

"I'm afraid my memory must be going," Eames said. "Tell me, Fischer," Eames said purposefully using the name Fischer believed was false. Trying to draw him out. "How's dear old dad doing?"

There was a flicker of something in Fischer's eyes. Maybe a spark of recognition when he was asked about his father?

Then the flicker went out. "My name is Jackson Rippner," Fischer said, looking hatefully from Arthur to Eames. "If you two idiots don't let me go, I'll sell your names to bigger and better dogs. Ones who listen to me, who only take my orders, and who never screw up a job like this one! You won't last the week!"

Eames wasn't bothered. Neither was Arthur.

"Well, if we have a week I'd like to learn more about you," Eames was saying as Arthur still pointed the gun at Fischer. "What was your childhood like, especially with a name like _Jackson Rippner_? I'm sure your parents regretted naming you _that."_


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the long wait for so little, but I have a little time to push the plot along. sort of.

Arthur was getting a phone call. His phone buzzed in his pocket, and Fischer narrowed his eyes as the noise interrupted his latest reply to Eames's persistent questions.

"Are you going to answer that?"

Eames raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

Arthur pulled out the phone and silently read the name on the display. "Give me a minute," Arthur said, passing the gun to Eames and heading for the door. When he was at the door and behind Fischer, he mouthed a name for Eames and rolled his eyes. Eames nodded quickly.

Fischer couldn't twist in his seat. He was bound a little too tightly, so the most he could do was look over his shoulder and glare at Arthur's back as the point man opened the door.

"Where are you going?" Fischer hissed, seething in his chair, already trying to loosen the cords binding him so he could look out the partially open door. He began to raise his voice, but Arthur walked into the hall and shut the door while Eames calmly pointed the gun inches away from Fischer's face, finger on the trigger guard.

"Now, Jackson," Eames said softly. "It wouldn't be fair to intrude, would it? Arthur deserves his conversations kept private."

"Who called?"

Eames smirked. "Someone Arthur once followed around the world. You two could talk forever about the father's you've had, met, or otherwise dealt with."

* * *

 

"Cobb," Arthur said quietly. "I'm a little busy right now." Then Arthur frowned to himself and thought about what he did owe to Cobb. Sure, he'd screwed them over in the middle of the dream, Fischer had woken up like this because of something Yusuf had done to the drug, also maybe from something that happened when Fischer fell to Limbo? Who knows?

Cobb could be calling him for help. Maybe he had an actual problem that Arthur could fix.

"Is everything okay at home?"

" _Shhh_ ," Cobb whispered. "They might hear you...They've practically pinned me to the couch."

Arthur narrowed his eyes at the hallway wall in front of him. Glaring at the empty wall only made him feel more impotent. He couldn't go save Cobb right now. He couldn't. Just like he was making no headway with Fischer. Or Jackson Rippner.

"I gave them ice cream," Cobb was saying, still so quietly. "We watched movies till it got dark. But now they're sleeping..."

"Have your children fallen asleep on you?" Arthur asked, feeling slightly silly for imagining that Cobb had found a burglar in the house. "Did you call me to assist you?"

Cobb was silent for a moment before agreeing.

Arthur sighed the long suffering sigh of a point man whose work is never ever done. Ever.

"Gently wake them up and put them to bed. You're a parent, Cobb. It isn't rocket science."

"They haven't let go of me since I got here."

"And you're so happy to be home, right? It was all worth it but you had to call _someone_ about it?"

"Aw," Cobb fondly said, as if his freaking out in the dream and on the plane happened years ago, not hours. "You always know, Arthur. But I also wanted to ask how things were going with Fischer?"

"He doesn't go by Robert Fischer at the moment. He's identifying as Jackson Rippner. He also thinks that me and Eames were people who worked with him on a job featuring Saito and that we've turned on him. So we're doing wonderfully," Arthur said, finishing with dry humor.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "So when I finished with the first call I sent a text to a mutual friend."
> 
> Eames paused. "...you want to bring him in after what happened?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! It's been forever and I thought this needed an update even if its a short one.

"I've got an idea," Arthur said after he came back inside, pocketing his cellphone and locking the door.

"Did Cobb ask you to not think about elephants?"

Fischer looked over his shoulder quickly enough to make the chair he was tied to wobble. "Let me out," Fischer hissed at Arthur, narrowing his eyes. "All he's asked me about is my parents! 'Why did they name you Jackson if your last name is Rippner? Did they think it was a funny joke?'"

Fischer's voice was getting progressively louder with each complaint. And since his head was turned he didn't see when Eames picked up the hand towel they'd gagged Fischer with before.

"They probably didn't," Eames said to Fischer, drawing his attention so he could force the gag back in the other man's mouth before he could scream.

Fischer began to struggle in his chair but still couldn't get out of the telephone cords that bound him.

Eames passed the gun back to Arthur and invited him to sit next to him on the foot of the bed.

"No, he didn't. But it made me think about a few things. We turned him against his own mind, took him down three levels, then the poor guy gets knocked down to Limbo. That's plenty of dreamtime for a certain persona to stick, wouldn't you say?"

"We've figured as much, but it still doesn't explain why he's still behaving this way."

Fischer made a muffled noise and Eames glanced at him once.

"Yes, you _are_ behaving this way. Please don't interrupt," Eames said then returned his attention to Arthur.

"So when I finished with the first call I sent a text to a mutual friend."

Eames paused. "...you want to bring him in after what happened?"

Fischer glared at Arthur when he replied to Eames. "Oh yes, I'd like a second opinion and someone to watch over us. We've taken more than enough risks at this stage. It's time to find the root of our problem."

Arthur smiled at Fischer. "I'm sure you'll be polite to our guest. He'd have no problem sedating you, _Jackson_. Even though when he did it before there was a risk of you never waking up again."

Fischer now looked at Arthur cautiously. Maybe it was the combination of Arthur's threat and his use of the name that Fischer was currently adopting after what happened more than three levels down in his mind.

Eames reassuringly said, "He's the best in his field. My darling's just the best, period. He's charming even when he's threatening you!"

Fischer didn't appear to agree.


End file.
